


The Christmas Party

by days_of_storm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Mystrade, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds a disregarded invitation to the Yard's Christmas do. He talks Sherlock around to going, but on Sherlock's condition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Party

Sherlock grinned at John; something which did several things to him simultaneously. He was aroused, he was confused, and he was slightly scared by Sherlock’s confidence in his abilities to become someone else.

***

It all started with an envelope John found in the bin. No address, just a handwritten _John and Sherlock_ on its back. Greg Lestrade’s hand, as John found out once he opened it and pulled out an informal invitation to the Yard’s Christmas party.

Sherlock had scoffed and ignored John when he asked him why he had thrown it away without telling him about it. After John received a text from Lestrade which anticipated the exact action Sherlock had taken, he tried again to ask Sherlock why he chose to ignore the invitation.

“People,” was Sherlock’s curt answer.

That was what made John decide that he would drag Sherlock there, no matter what. He knew Sherlock disliked some of the team, but he did alright with quite a few of them and it would at least be entertaining to see Sherlock dressed up to the nick embarrassing people who wore hideous Christmas jumpers, counting himself among those to be ridiculed.

“You could dress up,” he suggested, secretly hoping he’d say yes just so that he would be able to undress him once they returned from the party.

That’s when Sherlock started to grin.

***

Two hours before the party, John doubted Sherlock would show up. He had left after lunch to acquire some ingredients for his latest experiment, being adamant that what he needed would be sold out after Christmas and John hadn’t heard from him since. Greg had texted him again to ask whether he could expect their appearance and John had tentatively said that he would definitely come, but that he wasn’t sure Sherlock would show.

When he left he tried calling Sherlock, but he only reached his voicemail for the sixth time and he berated him for it.

Stepping out of the taxi he suddenly found himself crowded against the car by a tall dark man who looked vaguely familiar. John stared, trying to breathe away the reflex that had found his hand against Sherlock’s throat as Sherlock grinned down on him in the yellow lamp light. His hair was shorter, shaved close to his head for an inch on the sides and slicked back. He wore contacts which made his eyes appear hazel, though he couldn’t be sure in the weak light. He had done something to his eye brows, though John wasn’t quite sure what exactly. He looked like a breath-taking younger version of Sherlock. It was something in the way his eyes shone and how he held himself, less straight than usual, more relaxed and yet self-confident that made him seem so different. Sherlock stepped back and John followed him, away from the car.

“Jesus,” was all John could say.

“Sherrinford,” was Sherlock’s smug answer. “The third Holmes brother.”

“You don’t have another brother,” John pointed out, still comparing his Sherlock with the person who definitely stood too close to leave any doubt as to who he really was.

“Quite correct, John,” Sherlock grinned and leaned down until he was close enough to kiss. “It’s an experiment.”

“Are you trying to see how long I will be able to stare at you looking like that before I have to excuse myself?” John knew Sherlock’s tactics and he had long since stopped being overly intimidated or turned on when Sherlock tried to trick him into it in public. If they had been at home John would have dropped his trousers before Sherlock could repeat his fake’s brother’s name.

“Not quite. I am going to see if anyone recognizes me.”

“A bet?”

Sherlock pursed his lips and then nodded. “Alright. An hour without anyone noticing who I really am.”

“An hour? No, you can keep up appearances for an hour, but we are going to stay longer than that and there will be drinks.”

“You are trying to get me to stay at this party much longer than I ever intended,” Sherlock noticed, looking at John disapprovingly. “Alright then. Two hours. Name your sum.”

John grinned. “You wear your hair like this more often.”

Sherlock chuckled and pushed his gloved hands into his coat pockets – a new coat, tailored to fit his body much tighter than his grey coat.

“And fifty quid.”

A huff and Sherlock retrieved his right hand from his pocket. “Deal.”

John nodded and took his hand. “You look very good like this, Sherrinford,” he grinned and leaned close enough to press a small kiss to his lips. Sherlock straightened immediately.

“You have met me thrice. I am more amiable and social than Sherlock. Much more so than Mycroft, obviously.” Sherlock switched into a smooth Midwestern accent. “I am an entrepreneur and own several estates in Chicago and have come down for the Christmas dinner. Sherlock never mentions me because I talk a lot and I am not useful to him. He’s also annoyed by my various love affairs.”

“This is going to be interesting.” John patted his arm. “I am not allowed to touch you, am I?”

“We’re on a case, John,” Sherlock stated and from that moment on he became Sherrinford. When they entered the cafeteria cum party room everyone stared for a moment. Sherlock had been the first at the door but opened it and held it open for John. That alone made several people stop what they were doing and many heads turned. Very slowly John could see them all readjusting their perception. They all initially thought it was Sherlock Holmes, but the man who had entered with John couldn’t be him. He openly smiled into the confused faces around him, unbuttoned his coat in a smooth but slightly elaborate movement and then turned to John. “This is the right crowd, yeah?” Sherlock’s trousers were a tiny bit too tight and he wore the only Christmas jumper in the world which didn’t make him look ridiculous. John swallowed. It wasn’t a woollen monster like he wore, but soft angora, as far as he could tell, with subtly embroidered winter icons.

John wet his lips, thought of the prize money and nodded. “It is. Let me introduce you to DI Lestrade.” John took off his own coat and Sherlock picked it out of his hands and hung it up before he took care of his own. Despite it all, John blushed a little, realising that he was about to witness Sherlock being ‘normal’. So far he was doing quite well.

Greg Lestrade tried very hard not to stare. It took everything John had not to laugh at the look he gave Sherlock when he strode up to him, hand already stretched out, another one of those wide smiles on his face.

“Greg, this is Sherrinford Holmes. Sherlock’s younger brother. Sherlock couldn’t come,” he said with a reproachful tone in his voice, “and Sherrinford was in town and I thought I could bring him. I hope that is alright?”

Greg still stared, but he caught himself after a second and held out his hand to shake that of the man who looked so much like Sherlock but whose behaviour set him miles apart from him. “It is very nice to meet you,” Greg grinned as they shook hands. “You must tell me how Sherlock was as a child.”

John stood a little straighter, internally nodding and wanting to hear childhood stories, too. Sherlock smiled languidly and nodded towards to the bar. “Drinks first.”

It was astonishing how very smooth Sherlock could be when he wanted to. He kept himself out of John’s personal space, and at the same time he seemed to flirt with everyone in the room who came close. John would have loved to see what Donovan and Anderson would say, but Greg mentioned that they had volunteered to work on a case when they heard that Sherlock would show up and would probably look in later when they expected them long gone. They would regret not being there now, Greg was sure.

“So how long have you been working here? Sherlock mentioned once that you’ve known him for a long time.”

Greg grinned and leaned in closer than John found comfortable. Sherlock, noting Greg’s wish to bring him on his side, also leaned closer. “Too bloody long. And every single of my grey hairs I owe to him. Then again, if he didn’t help me occasionally, I probably wouldn’t have any left at all.”

John could see the tiniest twitch in Sherlock’s face at the ‘occasionally’ but he managed not to say anything. He really wanted to win this, then.

An hour later they were all tipsy, Sherlock had refused several proposals for a dance and was now comfortably lounging on a plastic chair, stirring his martini and reminiscing on his time in college. Tales about Sherlock were few, about Mycroft fewer. Once he started talking about his older lover, though, John accidentally spilled his drink and the look he got from Greg spoke volumes. He pitied him, John realised. He pitied him because there was a version of Sherlock in the world who was just as gorgeous and much more normal. John tried not to blush when Sherlock began dishing out tales of sexual adventures, all the while not going too much into detail, but expressing his appreciation of a lover who knew what he liked and who was as adventurous as he was.

John desperately wished for some distraction but all he could do was listen on while dabbing the table with a napkin. Sherlock’s hands were under the table and chances were that he would feel one on his thigh sooner or later. The thought that Sherlock could be that forward made it hard for him to breathe normal.

Just when John felt that the tension would become unbearable, Sherlock changed the topic to real estate and John noticed that Greg was somewhat disappointed by that. This notion struck an entirely new nerve in John and he began focusing on his interest in Sherlock’s supposed little brother.

Finally, when both Sherlock and Greg were drinking, John saw his chance and he led the conversation into a different direction; back to crime. He talked about running around with Sherlock and how impressed he always was with his ability to solve cases and make people feel stupid. Lestrade laughed and raised his glass. Sherlock remained neutral, but John knew he wasn’t all that composed on the inside.

Another few minutes passed and John managed to deal Sherlock tiny little blows which in turn made Sherlock’s tales swerve into the direction of sexual adventures again. John was gleeful, because Sherlock never spoke about sex if he could help it. To see him approach the topic like he did was definitely new and John began to wonder whether this entire act had a deeper meaning to it than he had suspected. For Sherlock, it meant a chance to break out of his usual behaviour and try to be what John sometimes secretly wished he was. John wasn’t sure he liked it. He was definitely amused and turned on by it, but he found that it made him uncomfortable as well.

Greg seemed to think similarly, judging from his expression.

“So you are here for Christmas?” Greg came back with another round for them. Sherlock had just managed to set off one of Greg’s colleagues into giggles and smiled widely at the DI.

“Yeah, family dinner. Usually I can’t make it, and with Mycroft and Sherlock it’s not exactly fun, you know. But sometimes the lost son has to return home and show his face.”

Greg hadn’t stopped smiling in a long time, John noted. He knew he was being irrational, but he felt jealousy creeping up inside of him. Sherlock spent most of the time looking Greg straight in the face, while he only occasionally glanced at John now. He also touched his chest a lot, which distracted both Greg and John and when at one point he drew his thumb along his lips as he sometimes did to appease John by distracting him, Greg’s eyes fell to his lips and lingered for a moment too long.

John did excuse himself then, noting on his way to the bathroom that the two hours had almost passed and that Greg had not only not realised that he was talking to Sherlock the entire time, but apparently Sherlock was about to charm his way into Greg’s pants, at least in theory. John had had no idea that Greg swung both ways but here he was, very obviously looking at Sherlock like he wanted to take him home. Maybe it was another point he wanted to make, possibly a favour for Mycroft. The thought was slightly disturbing but he had noticed that Mycroft showed great interest in the DI and that interest might as well be of a more complex nature than the need to control those who trusted Sherlock.

He returned to the table to find them leaning towards each other, Sherlock’s hand was resting on Greg’s arm and they were chuckling about something.

“Sher---rinford,” John coughed and straightened his own jumper, “I think it’s time to leave. You said Sherlock would return half past ten."

“Did I?” Sherlock looked at him with such intensity that John felt his ears burn.

“It’s already a quarter past.”

“Already?” he feigned surprise and Greg looked slightly unhappy by the way things were developing. “Sherrinford, how about you come around here tomorrow evening. Once I get off work I could show you around the premises. I know the building isn’t especially pretty, but I think I can show you a few things that might impress you.”

John wanted to laugh at the blatant double entendre in Greg’s plea, but bit back his reaction. Sherlock smiled, the drinks slowly showing in the way he moved.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’ll return.”

Lestrade’s face reflected confusion and Sherlock straightened lightly, pulling his shoulders back. “Though I think my brother would appreciate it if you gave him a call.” He placed a small cream coloured card into Greg’s hand. “He’s rather lonely this time of the year. Good night, Greg. Come on, John.” With that he walked straight towards their coats, put his own on with a swirl, turned once to lightly bow to the room and wished everyone a happy Christmas. Then he walked out, leaving John to get his own coat and apologise quickly for their hasty departure. The last thing he saw before he was out of the door was Lestrade staring at where Sherlock had just disappeared.

Outside he found Sherlock grinning.

“Was that what it really was about?” John asked, feeling himself deflate a bit. Being jealous at Greg had not been as much fun as Sherlock probably thought it might have been.

Sherlock pressed his lips together, scrunching his face into a mask of amusement before he relaxed and turned to look at John. “Mycroft owes me big time.”

“And you owe me fifty quid,” John murmured, feeling suddenly much happier when Sherlock’s brows knit together in confusion. “You didn’t check the time. Were so busy flirting your way into his pants that you didn’t check the time. It’s 9:56. You gave yourself away. I win.”

Sherlock kept up the confused look for a second too long and John knew he had once more believed to have tricked Sherlock, but in vain, Sherlock had known very well how late it was.

“You want to wear the look in bed,” John noted, trying not to be miffed by Sherlock’s cleverness. “God, I should have known. You were so eager to take on the bet and all this time you were basically begging me to take you home and fuck you.”

“If you say so,” Sherlock grinned and ruffled his hair, creating a mess of tangled curls where sheer slick straight hair had just ruled.

“You’re impossible. I think Greg actually fell a tiny bit in love with you.”

“And right out after he knew that I was me all this time.” Sherlock smirked and leaned down to kiss John, who let him.

“Home?”

“Absolutely,” Sherlock grinned and fished his phone out of his coat pocket. “By the way, I was rather amused by the lovely messages you left me. I’m quite impressed by your talent to fit that many curses into a single sentence.”

“Well, I didn’t know you would show up as fucking Ken.”

The question mark on Sherlock’s face was erased by John’s shrug and the arrival of a taxi which for once halted for John’s outstretched arm and not Sherlock’s. In the cab, Sherlock chuckled and pocketed his phone again.

“What did he say?”

“I won’t repeat his exact words,” Sherlock licked his lips, “but I can tell you that he will not spend tomorrow evening showing off the impressive inventory of the yard to one Sherrinford Holmes.”

John shook his head. “You do look bloody gorgeous like this, you know that? Ah, of course you know. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t only solve one case when he can solve three. You knew exactly how I would react to you looking like that, with your legs spread and your smile all over the place. God, I wish I had just snogged you right in there. That would have shaken things up a bit.”

Sherlock was quiet, and when John looked at him he could see a mix of adoration, arousal and confusion on his face and he remembered distinctly that he had felt the same just a few days ago. He grinned and leaned in to place a gentle lingering kiss on Sherlock’s lips which parted with a sigh.

“It was strange seeing you like this,” he confessed when the cab reached Baker Street. “How did you feel?”

He unlocked the door and slowly walked up the stairs, waiting for Sherlock to pay the driver and catch up.

“I did not really pay attention to how I felt. I had a mission and I was solely focused on it.”

“Getting into my bed.” John chuckled and Sherlock exhaled and crowded John against the door to their flat. “Short version, yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea when Anarion and me were planning the Advent Calendar, but I didn't want to use the plot on little dabbles, so I wrote this fic. I always wanted to write Sherrinford and I wanted to explore how Sherlock might behave in a way he thinks is normal.


End file.
